Shadowsinger

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “I can see your problem.” Secca nodded slowly. “Yet, here is mine. Lord Robero ordered me to allow the Sturinnese to depart after they had destroyed all of northern Neserea and too many keeps and towns in Defalk. He feared losing his power and position more than he feared his people losing their lives and their freedoms.” She paused. “I cannot release you from your pledge. Only Lord Robero can do that. Nor can I fail to do my duty to Defalk and its people. All I can offer you is that whatever happens between Lord Robero and me will occur between us—as woman to man, man to woman.” Her smile was cold. “Surely, Lord Robero does not need his lancers to protect him against one small woman.” Her silver-pupiled amber eyes fixed on the overcaptain.

  As if for the first time, Bryn saw her eyes. He swallowed.

  “Yes…or no, Overcaptain? Does your pledge mean attacking one small woman who has done right by Defalk in order to defend a man who has done wrong? Does it mean losing all your lancers to defend a man who has already broken his pledge to his people?”

  Bryn looked away. “If we do not attack…what will you do?”

  “Leave you free to tender your pledge to Lady Alyssa, to protect her and her children. They may hold Elheld here, but no more than Elheld.”

  Bryn slowly nodded. “We will not interfere. Should you prevail, as you will, we will protect the Lady Alyssa. Our men are drawn up in formation to the west of the hold house.”

  “Overcaptain Delcetta and her first company will accompany you to ensure that naught occurs, if you do not mind, while I meet with Lord Robero.”

  Jirsit cleared his throat. “Lady Secca…we would also accompany the SouthWomen. All five companies.”

  “I would appreciate that, Arms Commander.” Secca turned in the saddle. “Richina! Palian?”

  The younger blonde sorceress rode forward. “Yes, Lady Secca?”

  Palian followed.

  “You and the players will follow Arms Commander Jirsit and set up by the hold house. There are several companies of Lord Robero’s personal guards drawn up there in formation. If Overcaptain Bryn and his men make one move to leave or attack, you will use the flame spell and destroy them all.”

  “Yes, Lady Secca.” Richina looked coldly, imperiously, at the older overcaptain.

  “Your players stand ready, Lady Secca,” added Palian, her voice colder than Secca’s or Richina’s.

  Secca could see a hint of silver in Richina’s eyes as well. Will that mark all of us who were at Aroch and survived? Forever?

  Bryn looked away from Richina and Palian.

  “Unlike some, Overcaptain, I keep my word,” Secca said. “So does Richina, and she is almost as powerful as I am.” She looked to Alcaren and Wilten. “We need to meet with Lord Robero.”

  “Lady…you must not step into the dwelling,” Wilten said. “Not until we have secured it.”

  Secca did not argue. “Go ahead. Except…tell everyone that if even one of your lancers is harmed, I will use sorcery against every man in Elheld. Everyone.”

  “That I will be pleased to announce. We will disarm them all.”

  Secca eased Songfire to the side of the lane. As most of the column of lancers and players rode northward and up the long gentle slope, Secca and Alcaren watched.

  “Do you think any will try to trouble you?” asked Alcaren.

  “I would think not,” Secca replied, “but I trust no one here who is not pledged to me.” And it is sad that it must be that way.

  Less than half a glass passed before Captain Peraghn of the SouthWomen rode back down the lane and reported. “Elheld is yours, lady.”

  “Was there any trouble?”

  Peraghn shook her head. “Some faces were sad. I think all expected this.”

  That, too, was sad, Secca reflected as she urged Songfire up the lane. Anna had hoped and worked for a stable lineage to rule Defalk, but Robero had proved, in the end, unequal to the task. You would have to be the one to tell him.

  As she neared the hold itself, Secca studied the ranked guards in blue to the west—and the Defalkan lancers arrayed between them and the entrance to the mansion itself, and then the players set up just beyond the entrance and the mounting blocks. She doubted that ever had Elheld seen so many lancers at once, and never so many from such different sources.

  Wilten stood by the archway that led inside, waiting.

  “I will meet him in the open hall outside his study,” Secca said as she reined up, “where all can see.” Where he cannot hide some treachery. She dismounted, and then recased the lutar and restrapped it to Songfire. If she needed sorcery against Robero himself, her voice would be enough.

  After patting Songfire once on the shoulder, Secca turned, climbed the two low steps, and walked through the archway and then the foyer. Alcaren’s sabre was out, as were those of the four lancers who flanked her. Their boots echoed hollowly on the polished floors of the ancient building.

  Near the end of the corridor stood Robero, his paunch more noticeable than when Secca had last seen him two seasons earlier, his thinning mahogany hair longer and disarrayed. Secca’s lancers lined the corridor, their blades out.

  “All hail the usurper, the new Lady of Defalk.” Robero offered a deep and mocking bow. His face bore a reddish mark across one cheek, but his scabbard still held a blade. “You have always wanted to pull me down, Secca, and now you have done it. Are you happy? How much else of Liedwahr will you destroy to prove you’re more of a man than any man?”

  Secca just looked at him, shaking her head. “You were always a bully, Jimbob,” she said, using his childhood name to emphasize her point. “Nothing Anna did could change that. And the more she did, the angrier you became. In the end, you would have enslaved every woman in Liedwahr and turned the land over to the Maitre rather than admit your weaknesses.”

  “Will you burn me down with fire, Secca?” asked Robero. “The way Anna destroyed Behlem? Or will you poison me the way you handled Kylar and so many others you never bothered to tell me about?”

  “I think not,” Alcaren said, lifting his sabre. “All know you cannot stand up to a woman. Perhaps you can try to stand up to a man.”

  “Ah…the loyal consort. Such devotion.”

  Secca held up her hand, gesturing for Alcaren to stand back. “When you were fourteen, I said that you were a self-centered bully. Anna did her best, and when she gave you back your lands, you even changed your name. Neither was enough.”

  “Words, dear little Secca. Words. You would replace me. How could you, when the great Anna couldn’t? Everyone will fear you, but none will love you.”

  “You may well be right.” Secca smiled coldly, then sang.

  “Robero strong, Robero wrong,

  turn to flame with this song,

  singing turn, music burn,

  die the death you’ve richly earned.”

  Robero’s mouth opened as she began to sing. “You can’t…” He fumbled for the decorative sabre at his belt, then lunged forward.

  Alcaren stepped in front of Secca, slashing once with his own blade.

  Robero’s blade clattered on the polished stone of the corridor.

  There were no screams as the whips and lances of fire ripped into the lord called Robero, who had once been a bullying boy named Jimbob.

  Tears streamed down Secca’s cheeks.

  Alcaren looked on, his face impassive.

  Secca forced herself to stand and watch, watch until a charred figure lay on the polished stone.

  145

  Wei, Nordwei

  Ashtaar muffles the coughs that have become more insistent—and more bloody—with another green cloth. When they finally subside for a moment, she takes first a sip from the beaker on the polished table-desk, and then a swallow.

  Marshal Zeltaar looks across the table at the silver-haired Council Leader. “How long can you keep up the façade, Ashtaar?”

  “Long enough. Long enough.” Ashtaar takes another swallow from the beaker. “Long enough for the shadowsinger to
become Lady of Defalk in name as well as fact.” Her lips curled into a smile, almost a grimace. “All of Liedwahr knew it before she did.”

  “A sorceress as ruler? I cannot say that I like such.”

  “You’ll like it very well, Zeltaar,” predicts Ashtaar. “It will be very useful for you as Council Leader.”

  Zeltaar’s eyes narrow. “Is that your idea of a joke?”

  “Not at all. Escadra is the best of the seers, and she is far too young and trusting. Fuhlar is a fool, as we both know. The lady…need I say more? And as for Adgan, she is so cynical that she believes nothing, and that is worse than being too trusting.” As she takes yet another sip from the beaker, Ashtaar waves off any objection the marshal may have. After finishing that swallow of the bitter draught, she continues. “Your hardest task will be to convince the Council to back a resumption of trading with the Ostisles, and to combine that with establishing a naval base there totally under our control. You will need a second base there, probably at the western harbor of Alphara, say…three years after the first. I’d suggest trying to find our trading concerns solid partners out of Defalk, or Dumar, but even someone out of Wharsus will do in a pinch…” The Council Leader covers her mouth with the green cloth and doubles over in another fit of coughing.

  The marshal waits.

  Ashtaar recovers and takes another swallow from the beaker.

  Then Zeltaar asks, “I assume you plan for Nordwei to take over the Ostisles?”

  “What else?” Ashtaar smiles, an expression as much of pain as pleasure. “Defalk has neither ports nor ships. The Matriarchy cannot expand. There is an absence of trading power with the destruction of Stura, but it will not last. We fill it, or the Sturinnese will as they recover. If you make that clear to both the Liedfuhr and the shadowsinger, they might even support you. They certainly will not oppose you. No one wishes a resurgence of Sturinnese fleets and power.”

  “And the shadowsinger?”

  “Let her do as she will. She will have to take over Neserea. There is no help for that, and that will take most of her life and effort. She hates fighting, and that is what makes her such a terrible enemy.”

  The marshal frowns.

  “Do you not see? She does not believe there is honor in any form of fighting. So…whatever works most effectively is what she will use. Do you think the Neserean lords will rise against her—after they have seen what sorcery can do? They are not terribly bright, but they are bright enough to see that they suffered the sorcery of the loser, and that the Sturinnese lost every last lancer and sorcerer. The Liedfuhr will beg for assistance. It may not look like begging, but he is no fool. The Ladies of the Shadows do not wish the shadowsinger back in Ranuak, nor do Lord Hadrenn and his sons wish to contest her. So, Defalk will hold the midsection of Liedwahr, from Ebra to Worlan, and Dumar will do as Lady Secca wishes, and will do so gladly. And we, we will prosper, with our southern flank protected by the greatest power in Erde. Can you think of a better position in which to be? Or would you rather be the shadowsinger, who must watch every shadow for envy and ingratitude, even as she builds and rebuilds, and who must wonder if she will ever outgrow the shade of her mentor, even after she casts a shadow over all of Erde?”

  The marshal smiles wryly. “Being Council Leader sounds much better.”

  They both smile.

  146

  Secca paced across the floor of the chamber she had always used in Falcor. Somehow, she never wanted to live in the large chambers Robero had created by remodeling the liedburg. If she had to be in Falcor, then those Anna had used would suffice. Her eyes flicked to the open shutters, whose dark wood was silvered in her sight, as was everything. Silver, not gold. Even the perfect white rose that lay upon one corner of the writing table was silvered. Secca slowed her pacing and smiled, thinking about the moment when Alcaren had presented the rose to her, a moment that she would treasure always, both for the love it showed and the innocence it had represented.

  Her eyes lifted from the rose to Alcaren.

  “You must be Lady of Defalk,” her consort insisted. “You have known that for weeks, if not longer. Why do you hesitate now?”

  “I just wanted to stop the killing and the destruction. I didn’t want women to lose all that Anna gave us.” Secca paused. “And I killed more people than she ever did.”

  “Did you have any choice, if you did not want Liedwahr under the hands of the Maitre?”

  “I did not see any,” Secca admitted.

  “No one else did, either. Not the Matriarch or the Council of Wei or even the Ladies of the Shadows.” Alcaren paused, and then continued, his words measured. “My lady…that is why you must be Lady of Defalk, and why Defalk must include Neserea, Ebra, and Dumar. Only then will there be no killings by the scores.”

  “By expanding Defalk threefold?”

  “You already hold it,” he said. “They all will bow to whoever you appoint as Lord High Counselor in Dumar. Neserea’s lords should become part of the Thirty-three, and you should call all the lords, including Hadrenn and his sons, the Fifty or some such.”

  “What will the Thirty-three say?”

  “They will say little. You stopped the Sea-Priests, and only three holds in Defalk were destroyed. Two of those belonged to loyal lords. You can at least help rebuild those two with sorcery. Leave Aroch as an example. The cost to you and the SouthWomen was great, but the SouthWomen will recall with pride for generations their role in repulsing the Sturinnese and in supporting the Lady Sorceress. All will know the price you paid to save them, and that is as it should be.”

  Secca glanced toward the open window, catching a hint of the summer to come, with the spring flowers from the garden Alyssa had planted. Secca shook her head. Alyssa, like Anna, had done her best with Robero, and it had not been enough. Will your best fail to be enough? Will you always be looking over your shoulder? Wondering what devastation and disaster may lie ahead?

  “I don’t like being the person one has to be to rule effectively.” That was it, pure and simple.

  “So long as you remember that, all will be well. Was that not Lord Robero’s greatest failing?” asked Alcaren. “That he liked power more than ruling?”

  “One of them,” Secca acknowledged.

  “People follow you,” Alcaren said.

  “Now.”

  “They know that you went into danger for them.”

  “They will forget.”

  Alcaren laughed. “Have you an objection to everything?”

  “No…yes.” Secca turned toward the window. Finally, she turned back. “As…as Lady of Defalk…the reason why Anna could not be Lady…” Secca flushed and looked down, her eyes straying to the hearth before which she had once played Vorkoffe, never dreaming how she would one day return to the chamber.

  Alcaren waited, a supportive smile on his face.

  “As Lady…” She stopped, then began again. “Lady Anna was but regent because she could not have children, and a ruler…” She found herself flushing even more brightly.

  Alcaren took her hand, then reached up with his other hand and turned her face to him, looking at her with gray-blue eyes that saw into her, but did not judge or condescend. “Would that be so terrible, my love? So very awful to have a child?”

  Secca eased her arms around him, brushed his cheek with her lips, and then held tightly to him for long moments…and for the future.

  In time, she took a half step back and looked again into his eyes—silver-centered amber meeting silver-centered gray-blue. She tilted her head back ever so slightly, and then their lips met.

  Outside the unshuttered window, the spring song of a redbird rose liltingly, and with promise.

  Tor Books by L. E. Modesitt, Jr.

  Note: Within series, books are best read in listed order.

  -----

  THE IMAGER PORTFOLIO

  The continent of Solidar—once Lydar—is home to a strange and rare breed of magic user. Imagers can bring into being almost anythi
ng they can imagine…but their power is dangerous to themselves as well as to others, and their life expectancy is short. Because they are both feared and vulnerable, Imagers must live separately from the rest of society. Some are exploited by ordinary people with political and economic power…while others are wise enough to build a future when their powers may put to the service of the common good.

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